


The End of the Beginning

by kelios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mary Finds Out, Supernatural - Freeform, Torture, Wincest - Freeform, fix it for 12.02, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 13:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12277956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: What SHOULD have happened in 12.02.Toni Bevell gets what's coming to her after torturing Sam for weeks, and a few issues get hashed out.





	The End of the Beginning

Sam buries himself inside Dean once more as Dean arches underneath him, mouth falling open on a moan as he tries to pull Sam closer, deeper. 

“ _Sam,_ ” Dean pants. “ _Sam_ \--I need--I--” 

Sam kisses him, hot and wet and messy. “Come for me, Dean,” he whispers against Dean’s plush pink lips, and Dean comes instantly, warmth streaking Sam’s chest and Dean’s. Sam groans as the hot clutch of Dean’s body grips him tighter, shifts to sink his teeth into the meat of Dean’s shoulder as his own orgasm crashes over him. 

Sam has barely caught his breath--can still barely see straight, when Dean shoves at his shoulder. 

“Get off me, Sasquatch, I can’t breathe,” Dean grumbles, but there’s no heat behind his words. Sam kisses him again, slowly and thoroughly, before carefully pulling out and rolling to the side. They sprawl in contented silence for a few moments, then Dean reaches down over the edge of the bed and pulls up two icy bottles of beer from the green cooler on the floor. Sam yelps when Dean plunks one down on his chest, swatting half heartedly at his brother before sitting up enough to pop the cap and take a long swallow. 

“So…” Dean says, setting his own bottle down on the nightstand and pushing a little closer to Sam--but not cuddling. Never cuddling. “You given any more thought to what we talked about? Setting up that hunters network?”

Sam picks at the label of his beer bottle, slightly annoyed and more than slightly baffled. Dean has been on this...kick, lately. He wants to set up a ‘hunter’s network’, kind of a cross between Bobby and the Roadhouse but more organized. More to the point, he wants _Sam_ to set it up, since organization is more his strong suit than Dean’s, though Sam does have to give his brother credit--he clearly _does_ want to help. He’s been pestering Sam for names, addresses, any info Sam has to supplement his own, claiming he wants to get in touch with a few people and spread the word.

It’s starting to freak Sam out a little. 

“Dean…” 

“No, come on. Don’t _Dean_ me,” Dean says, smiling to take the sting out of his rebuke, looking coyly up at Sam from under thick eyelashes. He nudges closer to Sam, definitely into cuddling territory now, a long line of heat against Sam’s side. It’s perfect and so completely wrong that for a moment Sam’s vision blurs, a sharp stab of agony ricocheting through his skull as the room _shifts_ around him, turns dim and dank and cold.

It’s over almost before Sam can react, but of course Dean sees it anyway. 

“Hey, you okay, Sammy?” Dean asks, concerned. The last thing Sam wants is to worry Dean, so he just smiles and kisses his brother. 

“Fine,” he purrs. “Now, do you really want to talk all night, or--?”

Dean rises to the challenge, of course, tackling Sam to the mattress and straddling his hips. 

“You’re not getting off that easily,” Dean tells him mock severely. “Come on, I just need a few names. Just enough to convince some of the others that this is really happening.” He leans forward, hands on Sam’s muscled chest as he licks a stray line of sweat from Sam’s throat. A twinge of pain, sharp and hot, singes through Sam and he twists away from Dean’s hands on instinct. 

“Sam?” Dean’s frown is deeper this time, and that shifting blur is back again, the lights going dim and agony washing over Sam for a brief moment before fading abruptly enough to make Sam dizzy.

“I--”Sam struggles to sit up, confused. “Where’s my beer?” He’d had it in his hand when Dean pushed him back onto the mattress, he’s sure of it, but now it’s sitting on the nightstand, label untouched. “Dean, something’s wrong.”

Dean sighs in exasperation. “Sam, the only thing that’s wrong here is that you are avoiding the subject. This project is a good thing. We’re going to help people--hunters and normals. Why are you being so stubborn?”

“Because most of these people would kill us on sight, Dean!” Sam snaps, patience at an end. “And you know it as well as I do!” Pain sears through his head, his feet, his chest, so intense nausea washes over him. 

Dean’s lips thin in anger. “Fine,” he says, voice clipped and harsh. “I was willing to do this the easy way, but I’m perfectly happy to wrench what I need from your broken body if I have to.”

Sam stares at his brother in shock. “Dean?” he manages through the pain, and then the world goes black. 

*****************************

Water cascades over Sam, bone-achingly cold. Every muscle contracts on instinct, every torn and swollen joint, every inch of burnt and battered skin. He tries to scream and chokes as water forces its way down his throat and into his lungs. Coughing it out is agony. 

“Dean?” Sam whispers, voice rough and scratchy. The pain in his body is nothing compared to the crushing pain in his heart as he realizes it was a dream, a trick. His brother is still dead. 

“Sorry, no. I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for little old me.” Toni’s voice is full of bright malice. “But my, my. What an interesting little scenario that was, _Sammy._ ” She eyes him appraisingly, lasciviously. “You know, there have been rumors about you and your brother for years, but I never gave them much credence. After that little blow by blow, I can’t say I’m sorry to be wrong!” 

“Screw you,” Sam says hollowly. “What did you do to me?”

“Oh, just a little spell I whipped up,” Toni tells him cheerfully. She runs her fingers over the tray of instruments on the table, most of them already sticky with Sam’s blood, then settles on her favorite, a wickedly sharp sickle shaped blade. “It sends you to where you most want to be, where you’re most comfortable. And I have to say, even though you refused to give me the intel I wanted, it was still very informative!” 

Sam shudders, the memory of what he and Dean had done still sharp in his mind. He can still taste the salt on Dean’s skin, feel the press of his lips, as though it had actually happened. Knowing she’d watched every moment is an almost unbearable violation. 

“Just kill me and get it over with,” Sam says wearily. “I’m never going to tell you what you want to know.” 

Toni’s eyes harden as she stalks closer, draws the curved blade up the line of Sam’s throat to press under his chin so that he’s forced to meet her eyes. “Oh, I think you will,” she purrs. “Look.”

Sam follows the line of her arm to a dimly glowing red light set high up on the far wall, squinting blearily. 

“That is the signal that a human has triggered one of my traps,” Toni says smugly, eyes glittering with sadistic glee. “Not surprising, given that your brother’s errand boy Castiel was sniffing around my wards yesterday--I had a feeling Dean wouldn’t be far behind. I’ll go up in a few minutes and fish him out...it’s about time he and I got acquainted, don’t you think?” She twists her hand into Sam’s hair, pulling his head back painfully as she caresses his throat with the blade again, drawing tiny pinpricks of blood as she taps the thin skin over his jumping pulse. “He and I have so much to talk about.”

“My brother is dead, you stupid bitch,” Sam grinds out, voice raw and pained as the point of her blade digs in a little deeper. He stares up at her defiantly, some small part of him enjoying the way her eyes narrow at his insults, and for a split second he thinks he might have finally goaded her into doing it. 

Instead she releases him, laughing. “Oh. Oh, dear. Is that what you think?” She leans over him, malice dripping from her voice like acid on Sam’s skin. “Dean is very much alive. I’m going to bring him down here and take him apart, joint by joint, piece by piece, until one of you tells me what I want to know.” She steps over to the table again, this time picking up her gun. “What’s the matter, Sammy? Nothing to say?” 

Sam just stares at her, reeling. “You're lying,” he says at last, voice trembling. “He died saving the world. If--if he were alive he would have come for me.”

Toni tsks, fake sympathy oozing from her voice. “I guess he doesn't enjoy your dick in his ass as much as you thought, Sammy,” she says sadly. “Because he's very much alive, and yet here we are. Two weeks in and this is the first time--”

“Drop it.”

It's Dean's voice, harsh and rough and yes, very much alive. Toni’s face twists in surprise but she doesn't turn or drop the gun. 

“I think not,” she says instead, voice straining toward lightness. “I've done nearly all the damage I can to your brother and he still won't talk...I've no reason not to kill him.”

Sam stays quiet, not wanting to distract his brother, absorbing the shock of seeing him again, apparently alive and well. He relaxes at last, finally giving into the bone deep weariness of the last two weeks, blessedly, desperately grateful that he can do that, because _Dean is alive_. 

“That’s fine, too,” Dean says coldly, and the shot echoes painfully in the small room. Sam’s abused body gives up for a few moments, sparing him a few seconds pain, and when he comes back he can hear angry voices off to the side, one male and one female. 

“I don’t give a fuck about interrogations,” Dean says, low and ugly. “That is your _son_. Do you even care what she did to him?”

A female voice, cold and exasperated, answers him disdainfully. “Of course I care. But thanks to you, everything he went through was for nothing, since we don’t know who she was or why she kidnapped him. We have nothing!”

“We have Sam.” The level of anger in Dean’s voice means violence is imminent, and Sam can’t take any more violence right now.

“Dean?” Sam doesn’t care about anything or anyone else, just that his brother is alive. Dean came for him, despite what Toni said. Dean is here, and nothing else in the world matters.  
“Sam!” 

Dean’s on his knees beside Sam in a heartbeat, looking up at him with so much emotion Sam can’t process it all right now. Every hurt, every ache he has is muted with Dean’s hands on him as Dean unties him carefully, catching him when he falls forward. 

“Go get Castiel. Now.” Dean’s tone makes it clear that their earlier discussion isn’t over, whoever he’s talking to. The woman brushes angrily past them and goes up the stairs but he can’t take his eyes off his brother long enough to really see her. 

“I thought you were dead,” Sam says, voice trembling. “Oh, God, Dean--I thought--”

“Shhh,” Dean soothes. “‘M right here. Alive and well. I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you, Sammy. I never thought--” Dean’s voice breaks and he leans forward to kiss Sam, holding his face so gently and carefully. “I wish I could kill her again.”

“What the hell?” 

It’s the woman from earlier, and this time, with Dean here and demonstrably very alive, Sam’s mind is clear enough that something about her voice sounds familiar. Sam squints at her, blinks woozily as she telescopes in and out of his vision and suddenly he realizes what--or rather _who_ \--he’s seeing. 

“Mom?” Sam looks at Dean in confusion, completely at a loss for processing this new information. 

“Yeah, Sammy. It’s Mom.” Dean tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Amara brought her back before she left with Chuck.”

The woman--Mom--Mary? approaches them, anger and disapproval radiating from her. “What is going on here?”

Dean regards her coldly, refusing to take his hands from Sam’s body. “I’m checking to see where Sam--your son, if you recall--is hurt. _You_ are supposed to be finding the angel so he can heal him.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Dean. You may be grown, but I am still your mother!” 

“Then fucking act like it, and go find the one thing on earth that can heal your _son_.”

Mary scowls petulantly. “I couldn’t find him. I don’t know--”

“No need for panic, I’ve got him right here.” 

The British accent sets off alarm bells in Sam’s mind. He clutches at Dean involuntarily, a faint moan escaping as the movement jars his badly dislocated fingers. 

“Shh, Sammy. I’ll handle this.” Dean stands, pulling his gun in one smooth movement. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Mick, mate,” the man says cheerfully, and Sam shudders. He’s sure he’s heard that voice before. “No need for guns, surely, we’re all friends here…”

“Bullshit,” Dean snarls, and Mary holds up a hand placatingly. 

“Let’s just all calm down here,” she says warningly to Dean. “We need info--”

“Dean, be careful,” Sam whispers, voice squeezed down to nothing from the fear of having something to lose again. “They have magic, Dean, I’ve seen it, they can mess with your mind--.” 

“Alright, enough of this crap,” Dean says in disgust, and pulls the trigger. Mick’s head explodes in a shower of gore, drenching Castiel and splattering Mary, who rounds on Dean in a fury. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she shouts shrilly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I’ve killed the two people who tortured my brother--your _son_ , by the way, in case you've forgotten--nearly to death. Anything else we need to know we’ll figure out.” Dean turns to Castiel, effectively dismissing her. “Cass, get over here and heal Sam, would you? He’s in pretty rough shape.”

“I’m afraid I cannot, Dean. My healing abilities are not usable in this place because of the wardings.” Castiel sounds serenely unconcerned by his failure to help Sam, and Dean literally growls in frustration. Castiel responds by scrunching his face tightly and causing the blood and brain matter on his clothing to disappear. 

“Fine. Help me carry him upstairs, then. Mary, you stay down here and see what you can find out. I’m betting they both have cellphones we can trace, at least.”

Mary frowns tightly. “We need to talk about what’s going on here, Dean. I saw you and Sam kissing!” 

“Sam and Dean have enjoyed a sexual relationship for as long as I have known them,” Castiel says calmly, pleased to be of use after his previous failure. “This is unsurprising given that they are what is commonly known as soulmates.”

That sets Mary aback. “Soulmates? They’re _brothers!_ ” 

Castiel nods gravely. “It is unusual to find siblings that are also soulmates. However, Sam and Dean were chosen by God for a special purpose that required the joining of their souls.”

Sam can’t believe what he’s hearing, face burning as he tries to hide against Dean’s shoulder. “Can we talk about this later?” he asks plaintively. “Or maybe never?”

“Never sounds good to me,” Dean grouses, staring daggers at Castiel. “Cass. If you can’t heal Sam here, help me get him upstairs so you can. He’s bleeding pretty badly.”

That seems to get through to Castiel. He hurries over to Sam’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist and helping Dean lift him gently. Mary still seems frozen in shock, watching blankly as the three of them struggle up the stairs and out the door. 

Once they reach the surface Dean takes over, shifting Sam's weight to himself as Castiel hovers helplessly. The Impala is only a few yards from the rundown shed, and Castiel hastily opens the rear door at Dean's impatient nod before moving back a few feet so that Dean can ease Sam down onto the worn leather. As gentle as Dean is, Sam can’t help the miserable cry that escapes him when his burnt and broken feet hit the floorboards, dragging a broken, angry apology out of his brother. Sam doesn’t know why everything seems to hurt more now that Dean is back, just that it does, even the soft, careful kiss Dean presses to his forehead. Tears drip down Sam’s face against his will, impossible to hold back as every bruise, every cut, every burn, every twisted, misshapen joint in his body screams in shock. Dean gathers him up as he slumps, barely able to cling to conciousness through the cacophony of pain.

“Cass, get over here. Now!” The thread of panic in Dean’s voice rouses Sam slightly, and he tries to smile. It doesn’t matter how much he hurts now, it’s all worth it to have Dean back. Dean doesn’t seem to find his garbled mumblings reassuring, though. Instead of holding Sam he tries to ease away and Sam finds himself panicking at the thought of losing Dean again so soon. He clings to his brother with what strength he has left, and Dean sighs as he runs his hand through Sam’s hair. 

“Go around to the other side, Cass, climb in next to him.”

Cass hesitates. “Dean, you must remember that my healing powers are not what they once were. They work much more slowly and will be agonizing for Sam to endure with this much damage. He will feel his bones reform and his skin regrow. It would be best if we could do this somewhere more comfortable...and isolated.”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s a twelve hour drive back to the bunker, Cass. How long are we talking for the healing? Because I don’t want him like this for any longer than he has to be.”

“It will take several hours, Dean,” Castiel tells him reluctantly. “I can only heal small parts of him at a time with periods of rest in between, which I believe he will need as well.”

Dean curses under his breath. “Of all the times for you to lose your mojo…” He looks down at Sam, at the hand clenched tightly in his shirt. Sam had slipped away again at some point, his abused body and mind accepting that he could finally let go now that Dean was here. Maybe…

“Do what you can right now, while he's unconscious,” Dean decides. “Then go get Mary, help her search the place. I'll wait here with Sam.”

Castiel looks like he wants to object, but after a glance at Dean's face he chooses more wisely. 

“I will check his injuries first,” Castiel states warily, then places both hands on Sam’s body and twists his face into a cross between a scowl and a toddler passing gas. His hands glow faintly and Sam moans, struggling weakly in Dean’s arms. Castiel’s face takes on a faintly greenish tinge, and he releases Sam’s arm. “Sam has several broken ribs that will make breathing difficult and painful,” he informs Dean. “I will attempt to heal those first. I suggest you hold him well.” 

Sam comes to in agony. He thinks, at first, that his rescue was a dream, that Toni has him again or still and that she’s come up with some new torment that is somehow burning him alive from the inside out. His throat is already raw from screaming, the taste of blood thick and nauseating on his tongue when he realizes that the voice in his ear, unsteady and full of tears, belongs to Dean. The pain fades gradually, settling back into a dull throb that becomes slightly more bearable when he realizes he can take a deep breath without pain.

Cloth rustles next to him and the hand on his chest falls away. 

“Cass?” Dean says, mildly alarmed, and Sam turns slowly to look. The angel is passed out on the seat next to him, eyes closed and skin pale, but he’s visibly breathing. Dean relaxes as they see his chest rise and fall, settling Sam more firmly against him. “Cass’ll be fine,” he says, gifting Sam with a soft, private smile. “He said healing was tough on him and he’d have to rest between sessions.” 

“He doesn’t look okay,” Sam says, frowning. “I don’t think he should push himself so hard. Not for me.” 

“He’ll be fine,” Dean repeats, his voice a little darker. “He promised me he’d look after you, Sammy. He _promised,_ and I wasn’t even gone a day before he let someone take you and hurt you. I think he owes you whatever you need.”

“Dean…” The last thing Sam wants is for anyone to be hurt because of him. He’s caused enough pain in his life, no one else needs to suffer. 

“He can stop any time he wants, Sam,” Dean points out. “But he knows he screwed up, and he owes you for it. Now stop arguing and rest, the next round isn’t going to be any easier.”

Sam sighs, recognizing the futility of trying to sway Dean on this. His brother likes Cass well enough, but he’s always seen him as a tool to be used rather than an actual friend. Sam will make sure Cass knows he’s under no obligation to continue when he awakens. 

“Okay, okay…Tell me about Mom instead. Is it really her?” Sam can’t keep the wonder from his voice. “Did Amara really bring her back?”

“Yeah,” Dean says shortly, and Sam looks at him in surprise. “I don’t know what to make of it, Sammy,” Dean confesses. “Something just doesn’t feel right. She wasn’t concerned about what happened to you at all, and the way she looks at me sometimes...like she doesn’t really believe that I’m her son. Or care. She’s just...off.”

“It can’t be easy on her, Dean,” Sam reasons. “The last time she saw me, I was six months old. In fact, I’m the reason she’s dead. Is it any wonder she hates me?”

Dean turns Sam’s face to his, forces Sam to meet his eyes. “Don’t you ever say that, Sammy. Mom...she’s not innocent in all this. I never wanted you to know, but--”

“She knew him,” Sam whispers. “I remember. Azazel showed me, but I thought it was a lie. She--she knew?”

“She made a deal, Sammy,” Dean says, heartbreak in his voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. She made a deal for Dad’s life. If I’d ever known it would matter…”

Sam lets his head fall onto Dean’s shoulder, too worn out to properly process his grief. When he looks up, Mary is standing outside the car, lips press thin and anger in her stance. Dean lets go of Sam enough to roll down the window. 

“I’ve found a few things,” she says, eyeing her sons with distaste. “We can discuss them back at the bunker. Cass has a car, doesn’t he?”

Sam avoids her eyes, lets Dean do the talking. 

“Yeah,” Dean says shortly, refusing to be intimidated. “He’ll probably be coming around shortly if you want to ride with him.”

“What did you do to him?” she demands with more concern than she’s shown for Sam the entire time he was gone. “How did he get hurt?” 

“He’s fine,” Dean says, one hand coming up to stroke slowly through Sam’s hair. Sam can’t help the small, pleased sound he makes, the pleasure of Dean’s touch echoing through him even more deliciously than usual after so much pain. Mary looks faintly ill. 

Castiel interrupts their tense family reunion by stirring on the seat next to Sam. Mary hurries around the car and crouches next to the open door. 

“Cass? Are you alright?” she asks anxiously, as Dean stares at her in plain disbelief. 

“I will be fine, Mary,” Castiel says politely. “Thank you for your concern.” The angel sits up carefully. “I will not be able to heal Sam again for at least another hour, Dean. I am sorry.”

“It’s fine, Cass,” Mary assures him, glaring at Dean. “You’ve done enough.”

Castiel looks at Mary in surprise, blue eyes blinking owlishly in his confusion. “But he is your son,” he says, baffled. “Do you not wish him healed?”

Mary shakes her head slowly. “Not at the cost of another life, Cass.” 

“I will not die, Mary,” Castiel says kindly. “Not from this. Only an angel blade or the loss of my grace can destroy me completely.” 

Mary doesn’t look convinced. “Well...if you’re certain…”

“She’s right, Cass,” Sam tells the angel. He ignores the exasperated look Dean gives him. “It’s not worth healing me if it’s hurting you.”

“I disagree, Sam. What Dean said earlier is correct. I am willing to do whatever is necessary to heal you and correct the mistake I made in allowing you to be captured,” Castiel says earnestly. “You are my friend, and I regret very much that you have been harmed.”

The car falls silent after that. Mary closes the door near Cass with an aggrieved sigh, and gets into the front seat instead. She turns on the radio, filling the silence with Dean’s favorite classic rock. Sam drifts back off to sleep, Cass goes into the weird trance state he claims helps him recharge, and Dean and Mary ignore each other. With some careful maneuvering, Dean manages to extract an old pack of baby wipes from under the seat and sets about gently cleaning some of the blood off Sam’s face and throat. Mary watches in the mirror, unable to look away for all her disgust. 

“You love him, don’t you?” she asks quietly after awhile. Dean looks up, startled, so absorbed in his task he’d nearly forgotten she was there. 

“Sam? He’s my brother.” He says the words as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but it’s clear Mary doesn’t understand. 

“Then how can you--” She can’t finish the sentence, her mouth curling around the thought in distaste. 

“It’s just part of who we are,” Dean says simply. “There’s no one else for either of us.” 

“But--”

“There’s no but, Mary. Sam and me--we belong together. We know that now.” Dean turns back to Sam, making it clear the conversation is over in his mind. Cass blinks back into himself not long after that, seemingly refreshed, and Dean is glad for the end to the awkward tension. 

“Sam. Hey, Sammy, wake up.” Dean squeezes Sam’s uninjured (as far as he can tell) shoulder gently and is relieved to see hazel eyes blink up at him immediately. “Cass is going to heal you again, then we’re going to get back on the road and head toward the bunker, okay?”

Sam nods hesitantly. “Can you heal my feet, Cass? If it won’t be too hard on you.” He closes his eyes, vaguely nauseated by the memory of what they looked and smelled like after Toni’s brutal torture. 

“Of course, Sam. I suggest you hold onto Dean as best you can.” The compassion in his voice surprises Sam, but he’s grateful for the advice as agony rips through him, worse than the original injury. He tries not to scream as his body remakes itself, but it’s impossible. Dean does his best to comfort him, but there’s scarcely a spot on his body that doesn’t hurt right now. When it’s finally over, they both collapse against the seat, Sam panting harshly, Cass barely breathing. 

Mary gets out of the car without a word, face white and pinched. She helps Cass stand and walk wobbily over to the other car, getting him into the front passenger’s seat silently and efficiently before returning to where Dean is carefully helping Sam stand. 

“I never wanted this for you,” she says abruptly. “I wanted to leave this life so that my children never had to suffer like this. But it just wasn’t possible then--I didn’t know how to be anything else. Now...now I think I could learn, eventually.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks, puzzled. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying I need some time. On my own. I...I have a lot to think over, and I can’t do it here, with you.”

“You’re leaving?” Sam can hear the devastation in his voice, isn’t strong enough to hide it. “Mary--Mom--please--”

Mary shudders. “I have to go,” she says, turning away. “I’ll drop Castiel off wherever he wants to go and call you when I can get to a phone.”

“Mom, you don’t have to go. We can work something out!” Sam says, desperate for her not to leave when they’ve barely had the chance to speak. 

“I’m not your _mom_ ,” Mary responds with sudden venom. “I’ve never been your _mom_ , never wanted to be. As soon as Dean was born that’s all anyone ever saw me as, and I’m more than that. I can finally have what I want now, and I’m going to take it.”

She stalks angrily back to the car where Castiel is waiting, already deep in his reverie. Sam watches her leave in silence, stunned by her outburst. 

“Don’t worry about her, Sammy,” Dean tells him as she pulls away. “It’s better this way. Let her come back in her own time.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Sam asks plaintively. “What if something happens to her?” 

“Then it’ll be back to you and me against the world, kiddo,” Dean says, shrugging carefully so as not to jar Sam too much. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been at my best when I’m driving down crazy street with you riding shotgun and bitching about the music.” 

Sam smiles, bloody and bright. “Then I guess we better get going,” he says, leaning down to press a careful kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Crazy street, here we come.”


End file.
